Power Trip
by Junichiblue
Summary: Cut off from rescue, Peter has a frightening run in with nasty ghost, as the guys frantically try to get to him. This was a one shot. It's now several scenes from an rgb story I never finished. It's rated T for some violence and a few cuss words.
1. Chapter 1

Hello to those who still read RGB. I wrote about 25 pages of an RGB story almost ten years ago and never finished it. I dug it up today and thought, hey, I'm kind of proud of this. So, I'm posting one chapter, because I feel it's a shame to never have it read by anyone at all after the work I put into it.

Now a word of warning – I was an avid reader of RGB in the early 2000's and I came across several authors who, in my opinion were the god's of RGB and after reading so many of their truly masterful stories, I came to accept some of their characters takes as canon. So, on that note, there is one very small section in here, which i've italicized, (ideas - I hope not sentences) I think I may have essentially picked up from one or more of their stories. I can't be sure but that section just feels familiar in a bad way. I would have just taken it out, but i've chosen to post this section of the story as it was originally written.

Anyway, I don't have any plans to finish the story itself as I have moved on to Bleach, but hopefully you enjoy it, and i'd certainly like to hear what you think of it in a review.

Junichiblue

* * *

**Power Trip**

"Oh wow Egon," Ray remarked, staring through the large window and into the room beyond. "It's an interrogation room. I've never seen one from this side before. Uh, not that I've been on the other side either." He chuckled lightly as Ray usually did when he corrected himself.

I adjusted my red rimmed glasses and glanced up, muttering a non committal "mmm," and quickly returned my focus to the steady beeping of the PKE meter.

"Strange." I studied the meter as I pointed it at the window.

"What's strange Egon," Ray asked as he leaned in against my shoulder and peered at the screen.

"I'm getting strong readings but they keep fluctuating, class three, class seven… now class four. I can't seem to get any definitive readings. Nor can I pin point their location. But they seem to be emanating from the general direction of that room." I explained, thrusting the meter towards the window.

Rays brown eyes flared with concern, as he held out a finger in the direction of the hallway and mentally mapped the team's relative positions. "Egon? Isn't that the room Winston and Peter were going to…"

His question was abruptly cut off as the meter began to screech a shrill warning. My heart jumped. Yes. We both turned our attention to the window, Ray instinctively raising his proton gun to face whatever entity was sure to be materializing beyond the glass.

**XXXXX**

"Ready Winston? On three…. _Three_."

I raised my right leg to the sealed door and kicked outward. My heavy black boot connected hard near the door knob. With a crunch, the lock splintered and the door flew open, bouncing off the back wall. Willful destruction of property. God I loved it. Anyone who got me out of bed this early in the morning, little old ladies exempt, was getting the special Venkman treatment. Ya sure I'll catch your ghost, but don't expect me to be neat about it.

Beyond the open door frame was nothing more than a quiet empty room. Empty except for a bare table with a grey metal chair at the far end.

A few feet down the hall a door slammed shut, sealing in two panicked yells.

I never heard them. Neither did Winston. My foot had connected with the door just as they yelled my name, just as their own door was slammed shut by some unseen force. A force I was about to become much better acquainted with than I cared to be.

I took one step into the quiet room, my pack still partially in the door frame.

"Nothing in here," I shrugged my shoulders and threw a look back to Winston, who took a step up behind me, his PKE meter unreactive in his free hand.

"Not getting anything now Pete," he confirmed. "Weird."

I nodded agreement. His voice sounded a little relieved, and a little puzzled. I was puzzled too. And the hair on the back of my neck was beginning to tingle. Never a good sign. But like the good paranormal soldier that I was, I had to be sure that spooky spookerson wasn't hiding around the corner.

I took another step.

What I saw next made me jump. I turned my head to peer around the door which had bounced off the back wall and stopped parallel with the wall beside it. A pair of eyes looked back at me.

"Jeez!" I gasped as I raised my thrower. I froze, just long enough for my fight or flight response to come to its senses… "Ah crap," I sighed.

"What is it Pete?" I heard the chink of metal as Winston's thrower came up behind me in a protective gesture, still one step outside the door.

"Nothing. Just a mirror. Man I'm jumpy as shit today."

"Haha. I told you not to have that third cup of coffee ma'man."

"Hey. If you wanted me conscious on this bust…" I shot back.

What I saw to my right was another room just like this one, and another me, a very good looking me, I might add. A mirror covered almost the entire right wall. I recognized it for what it was, and had spent some time in one myself on several occasions thanks to the antics of dear old dad. I shoved those memories back into their dirty little hiding place and reached up and brushed back my brown slightly too long bangs. Time for a trim. Didn't I just have one a month ago? Damn, the curse of beautiful hair.

"It's an interrogation room," I said over my shoulder as I continued to stare at myself in the mirror.

I wasn't looking at my reflection now though, not really. I was studying the minute vibrations that seemed to be rippling over the other me, over the other room. Odd.

**XXXXX**

Ray pounded his fists violently against the reinforced window.

"Peter! Get out of there!"

"My radio isn't functioning. Something's blocking the signal." Egon growled in a rare display of frustration.

I didn't know it, but the ghost had made itself visible to Egon and Ray as it hovered over the table, wisps of ghostly tentacles gliding through the air mere inches from my head. I could only have guessed why it chose to put on a private show just for them, one staring little Petey Venkman. And I would have guessed that it was mocking them.

"It's no use Ray," Egon shouted as he wrestled with the door. "This room is sound proof. He'll never hear us. Damn it, this door will not move."

"Then we'll blast it."

Egon stepped back and both men aimed their rifles at the door and fired. Nothing.

Rays eyes widened in shock and frustration.

"This is ridiculous! Try the window, Egon! Ready… fire!" Two streams pounded against the glass in unison.

**XXXXX**

I just stood there for a moment, studying the mirror, totally oblivious to the hoarse yells, pounding fists, and the proton streams now ineffectively bouncing off the other side of the glass. And oblivious to the danger that hung invisibly mere inches in front of me, the monster that I could have reached out and touched. Or which could've reached out and touched me first for that matter.

They could see it. But I couldn't. I never knew a ghost could do that. Well shit. It seemed this one could. No idea what friggin class this spook would fall in either. Years of bustin' and I honestly thought we'd seen it all and then this... And after some of the shit we'd seen I was in no way eager to go where no man had gone before and search out new life or unlife or whatever the hell kind of freaky undead thing this was.

Actually, Egon would later theorize that the reason our meters and our eyes didn't work was because the ghost wasn't actually there. Somehow its image and energy was reflecting through a portal at an angle which Egon and Ray could see. (The "brain" said Winston and my PKE meters didn't register the nasty either for the same reason… or some voodoo mumbojumbo like that.)

I leaned forward and peeked around behind the door, just to be sure. Nothing. So I turned to Winston.

"Ok, let's go see what's taking are two favorite scientific clowns so…"

Without warning Winston suddenly disappeared behind the door as it slammed shut between us. And I was suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling that I was on the wrong side of it.

"What the… Oh shit. Winston?"

I would have grabbed for the door knob… the bolt was already in pieces - so really the door shouldn't have been a problem to open - but I knew better. Years of prancing around after pesky poltergeists had taught Dr. Venkman well that doors which slam shut by themselves don't usually have a working doorknob. Some ghosts seem to be able to affect their environment in alarming ways, sealing a door for example. Almost instantly, I could hear that Winston was giving everything he had to open it anyway, a rattle, a kick, the sizzle of a particle thrower on low, on medium, on high.

Nope. No point in going down that particular dirt road. Not when there was probably a big nasty materializing behind me at this very moment. Which there was of course.

Ghost busting rule number 43, when doors inexplicably shut in front of you, turn around as fast as you can and cover your ass because 10 to 1 something scary and moldy is coming at you from behind.

I spun around, as my heart clambered frantically up my throat, bringing my gun up to face whatever hideous thing with massive claws was going to be taking a run at me.

Nothing.

Well that's not right at all. I hastily scanned the room from left to right then up above my head. A lot of the things we dealt with had a bad habit of coming at us from above, or sometimes below. But no, nothing ready to pounce on my head and mess up my hair.

"Hello? Any spooks in here?" Damn my voice was shaky. No response. Just an empty, quiet, stillness in the room. I couldn't have heard an answer anyway, what with all the road construction going on between my ears. Then it occurred to me, maybe the spook was on the other side of the door after all, maybe it was Winston and the others who were in trouble, maybe…

Then suddenly the air got cold. Very damn cold.

I simultaneously shivered and gasped as a grayish mist began to materialize out of the empty space in front of me.

"G-guys… anybodeee… uncle Pete would like some help heeere," I managed to half shout the words out the side of my mouth, as if ghosty wouldn't know all the noise was coming from me.

I reached down with one hand to shut off my PKE meter which had finally decided to announce our guests' presence. Thanks for nothing.

The fog was almost sparkling, and wispy like the fog that hangs over a bridge on a humid summer night. And it seemed to be filling the room. Definitely not good. I couldn't hit whatever it was until it materialized fully. But it seemed interested only in spreading around the room… around me.

My own icy breath began to mingle with the mist. It felt like January but the cold wasn't stopping the bead of sweat from trickling down over my brow. No sir. And if it weren't for my death grip on the thrower, it might have slipped out of my hands. My palms were sweating so much. The bad feelings, sixth sense warning, and internal alarms which I should have had two minutes ago were now on overdrive. Better late than never, they say.

Horse-shit.

I needed a door, and any door would do. I wasn't picky. I swung my proton gun around towards the mirror and fired once at an angle. Instant door. Just add protons.

No dice. It bounced off and shot up toward the ceiling, causing a bubbling black sing mark.

Shit.

Alone. No door. No window. No way out.

I raised one shaky leg and kicked back against the door.

"Any time now Winston," I yelled with mock encouragement.

I wasn't gonna let gooper know how scared stupid I was. I could feel that something very, very bad was about to happen. This so called class four didn't feel like a ghost who was just manifesting to share its feelings and move on to a better place. No way. It felt wrong. This whole bust had given me a bad feeling from the minute Janine had picked up the phone, and I had told Egon so in no uncertain terms over breakfast.

We'd held a vote on it. I had folded my arms and scowled, but it was mostly for show. After a brief debate they had decided, bad feelings or not, we had to go. Eventually I had sighed and thrown my hand onto the pile at the center of the kitchen table. It was what we did for crying out loud. And no one else could do it. Besides, I'd had bad feelings before and it had almost never stopped us. We just took extra precautions that's all. But, and the guys will back me on this, my intuition was almost always right.

I'd now been in the room for one full minute. The mist began to thicken at its center. I decided to look on the bright side. If I timed it right, that could be a good thing. A ghost has to be more or less fully materialized to be caught in a stream and sucked into a trap. And if there were two things that were always true about old Petey, he liked his beer cold and his ghosts fully materialized.

I really didn't want to hang out here with fog for brains anymore, so I decided now was a good time to try something… anything. Hey. I even had a plan. Plans were good. I reached back and neatly plucked the trap from its place on the side of my pack, and tossed it underneath the ever thickening fog a few feet in front of me. The release pedal landed at my foot. I thumbed the trigger of my proton gun, and hoped I didn't have to fire the thrower again in such a small space. I shut my eyes and simultaneously stepped on the trap release.

That just made it mad. Goody.

The second the bright light from the trap filled the room, a horrific wailing and howling exploded around me, forcing me to abandon my thrower and cover my ears to keep them from shattering. Great, blind _and_ deaf. Great plan.

I could feel the air begin to stir rapidly, in seconds twisting into gale forced winds. Always an experience. I'd been thrown through an inter-dimensional gate or two in my day, and this seemed a lot like that. Ah yes, good times. Enough to make the most seasoned roller coaster enthusiast lose his lunch. I braced myself against the door against the onslaught, grabbing onto the knob and using it as an anchor.

"Shit", I yelped, as the trap was picked up, bright burning light still beaming wildly, like a sun catcher gone bad, and flung around the chaotically spinning room. The trap conveniently clattered into the far left corner, convenient for anyone or anything that wasn't me of course. I heard it land, because I couldn't see it, since I had ducked my head protectively into the brown jumpsuit material on my arms. If that trap had pointed directly at my eyes as it was spinning, well… I'd be counting on Egon to pick out my clothes for me for the rest of my life and that was not a pretty picture.

I squinted my watering eyes at the fog thing in front of me, around me, behind me… Uh oh.

An icy chill raced up my spine and skittered over my shoulders. I sucked in a startled breath and tried to turn to face the thing that was now running free-range over my upper body. Small room or not, I was alone with a bad tempered ghost and in deep shit. Help did not seem to be on the way. I had to do something. But I suddenly realized that I couldn't turn. I couldn't move. Ah crap. You've really done it now, Venkman.

I suddenly became aware of the fact that my feet weren't nearly as attached to the ground as they usually were.

"Hey!" And the cold pressure around my shoulders was building. "Lemme go!" I bawled.

I felt the straps of my proton pack loosen then snap. The forty some pounds of nuclear accelerator thumped solidly onto the floor behind me, and I yelped as a painfully cold jolt of energy shot down my arm, forcing me to release my grip on my beloved thrower.

I thought I knew what was coming next. The usual. Ghostbuster takes short flight into nearest wall, then briefly plays dead until help arrives to distract and hopefully catch the nasty gooper. I'd done it a few times myself. I'd get a few good bruises, and be fussed over for at least a day or two. No problem.

But not this time. Nope. The fog-thing had other plans for everybody's favorite hero. Nasty plans. And given a choice I would have preferred being tossed against a brick wall.

With inhuman force, it ripped me right up off the ground and spun me around until I hung face up helplessly over the table in the center of the room, my head near the far wall.

"Great ride. Can I get off now?" I quipped. Hey, no terror too terrible, no threat to great to keep my smart mouth out of action.

I strained my neck forward until I could see the door beyond my feet. Still closed. I struggle furiously against the icy grip which now seemed to be wrapping itself restrictively around my entire body. I could feel the panic beginning to surge through me as my breathing sped up. I needed to calm down and think. I reluctantly let my head fall back and stared up at the ceiling, and my unruly brown curl plastering itself to my perspiring forehead.

Then, like a really bad star trek episode, the now sparkling fog moved in around me, concentrating around my struggling form.

That was when time suddenly stood still. Without warning it began to invade me.

"What the fu…," I gasped.

The fog literally began pouring into me, into my mouth, my nose, my ears, my eyes. The cold was so intense it felt like the mist was pushing its way right through my skin. It rolled across my tongue and flowed down my throat. It may have looked like mist, but it tasted like a thousand rotting corpses. It gave new meaning to the words, "the taste of death".

Any faith I had that the guys were suddenly going to burst through the door and save my ass was rapidly deteriorating.

Thoroughly panicking, I twisted and bucked frantically. Desperately, I threw my head forward and gagged, coughing, choking, spitting in the process, trying to force the dead smelling thing out of my lungs.

My eyes watered and burned, and my lungs screamed for clean air. I was about to begin projectile vomiting the thing out of me, when a pain, unlike anything I've ever felt swarmed over every inch of me. My head fell back and my muscles clamped themselves into knots and I began convulsing as I hung two feet over the table top. The scene would've scared the pants off of even the most seasoned paramedic.

As it happened it was scaring the pants off two ghostbusters who for one endless moment were frozen, their mouths gaping, as they watched their friend being engulfed by the white writhing mass of ghostly mist and begin to convulse uncontrollably.

I managed a brief but impressively ear shattering scream as the pain viciously stabbed its way up and down my spine, legs, and arms. My vision blurred. Then everything faded to black as my eyes rolled back into my head. I could hear the chattering of my own teeth, then tasted the blood that rolled down into my throat as I bit a good sized chunk out of my tongue.

My breath came in short painful spasms as I sucked the fog in, and breathed the fog out again. I was drowning in it. This thing is killing me… slowly, I thought miserably. Just friggin' do it already. Then the world began to twist and fade away into empty welcoming darkness, the only noise, the blood pounding in my ears. Just as I could feel my muscles begin ripping away from my bones, it all stopped. The torture stopped. For a brief second, I thought I was dead. At that moment, I didn't really mind that much.

Then I felt a sudden jerk and realized vaguely that I was being hurdled through the air. I came to a very abrupt and painful stop as I crashed into the wall, then dropped five feet to the very solid concrete floor. I lay there in a lifeless looking heap. Well, looks like I get to play dead after all, I thought numbly before the world was washed away into darkness.

**XXXXX**

Pain. My world was excruciating pain.

I was only out for a few seconds. I wanted to stay out though, just ignore the ghost to death. But instinctively I fought the darkness focusing instead on the spasms that continued to torture me. They were less intense now and fading. I struggled to breathe normally and slow my pounding heart. As I lay there sucking in ragged breaths, I became vaguely aware of a loud noise. No. Several loud noises. Familiar sounds. Electrical… a proton stream. Screaming… a furious ghost. A bassy voice, someone yelling out my name… Spengler. Ray. Winston.

My heroes. My late heroes.

Finally a very brief moment of silence, then the sound of a stampede of buffalo bearing down on me. There was a short piercing squeak of rubber against floor as Egon stopped just short of on top of me.

"Peter? Peter - can - you - hear me?" The words came slowly, dreamily down a long tunnel. They didn't make much sense to me. But I could hear the fear.

I couldn't answer. I lay still, utterly exhausted, focused on my sole purpose in life… filling my lungs with oxygen. Then a whole new sensation began to creep over me, beginning slowly in my extremities and working its way into my core. It was the sensation of ten or twenty thousand very tiny, but very real, pinpricks. The cold. I had been wrapped in a blanket of cold. Now I was warming back up after my encounter with frosty the fog bank, and all my nerve endings were letting me know that they were coming back online and working just fine… just in case I didn't already know.

But that was only the half of it. Behind door number two was the sensation of being in a bath and having someone throw in, oh, say… a toaster, just for the fun of it. I shuddered, and let out a barely audible groan.

"Peter." That's when Egon reached out and touched my shoulder. "Yeeeaahh!" Egon leaped back from the brown jump suited barely conscious guy on the floor as we both let out simultaneous yelp of shock. Shock being the operative word.

"What the heck was that?" Winston barked.

"Whoa, Egon…" was all Ray had to offer.

Egon gave his shocked hand a shake and studied the small red marks near the tip of his fingers.

Ray knelt down beside me. "Aww Peter… Peter, are you alright?"

"Uhngg." I responded, matter of factly, my head still pressed to the floor, my arm and my messy curl covering all but one mildly burning eye. I had curled up into an almost fetal position on my side, not ready or willing to move anymore than that at the moment.

Egon pulled out his PKE meter and studied it's blinking lights for a few seconds. "Hmmm," he announced.

"What's hmmmm Egon?" asked Winston.

"Very strange readings. Peter seems to be emitting a high amount of multi-phasic ecto energy."

"Is he… possessed?" Winston whispered.

"No. I don't think so." He fiddled with the meter's knobs. "I'm reading Peter's biorhythms, but… but they're altered, and stronger than usual. But they do appear to be reverting slowly, I assume as the energy leaves his system."

You would have thought Egon was sitting in a lab convoluting over some random experiment by his tone. The scientific, almost mechanical way he was describing his downed ghostbuster's current predicament. But that was Egon. In fact, he was worried sick, and focused on solving said predicament as fast as possible so the world could be right again. He had assured himself that my heart was beating and I was breathing, and at least partially conscious. (Catch him after a day when I've been in one of my more predatory and annoying moods and he'll surly tell you he prefers me that way. Much easier to deal with.)

Egon knelt down on one knee and held his hand out just a few inches over my side. The audible crackle of energy began to build and a faint blue light began to arc and dance between his hand and my side.

"Multiphasic energy… that's greeaat!" exclaimed a wide eyed Ray.

You gotta hand it to Ray. Ya, that's great Ray. It hurt like hell.

"Yes Ray, that's great. But what we need is to get Pete to the hospital."

Good old Winston. Could always count on him to bring the eggheads back to earth when they were more interested in their scientific discoveries that the safety of their number one ghostbuster and best pal. But at the moment I had absolutely zero intention of moving anywhere. No way. No how.

"Dun tush me!" I barked, well… panted really, as I jerked away from Egon. My sluggishly bleeding tongue throbbed relentlessly. It hurt too much for me to take pride in proper enunciation. Man, there were going to be a lot of disappointed ladies out there, what with the Venkman tongue temporarily out of commission.

I curled up even tighter, held back a painful shiver, and exhaled. My breathing began to even out again but the world was still tilting and weaving around me. A dark abyss was settling in around me, slowly pulling me into it.

Not yet. Not ready. Had to check on something first.

I cracked open an eye, blinking against the light. Funny how damn bright it seemed now. I had to be sure the guys were really here, and safe. They were. I felt satisfied, and somewhat safer. The abyss pulled harder. Before I laid down arms and let myself sink into a semi conscious sleep, I had to double check one minor detail.

"Dija get'm?"

"Yes Pete, we got him good." Thanks, Winston.

"Good. Thave it… fer me. Wanna… thlam dunk'm… m'thelf."

There was a pregnant pause. Then Ray coughed into his hand. The one cough quickly turned into three. Then they all just gave right up and broke into laughter.

Making fun of Dr. Venkman when he was down?

How rude.

I'd let it slide, though. I'd get them back later. For now I let the warm, mirthful sound of my friends carry me into blackness.

**XXXXX**

I was only out for maybe twenty five minutes, and still in the same position, when I started to come too. The guys hadn't been able to make contact with me at all yet, but Winston made it his duty to monitor my breathing as best he could.

While I did my best to reintegrate my brain with the rest of my body, it was almost a full half hour before I would let any of the guys actually lay a finger on me. Not a big supporter of electroshock therapy. Nope. Ranked right up there with getting slimed, swabbed, and having my prostate examined. So they sat there on the floor of the interrogation room with me, my best friends, and waited, talking to me every now and then to rouse me out of sleep and make sure I still knew who I was. No question about it, all said and done, I was a lucky sob. They really were a great bunch of guys. The best. And this reminded me of the times Egon and Ray had missed out on their plans just to nurse me through several well deserved hangovers and a nasty case of influenza back in college. Yup, really brought me back.

While I regained what little of my senses I had left, Egon busied himself with his PKE readings, or more precisely, my PKE readings. Ray and Winston talked to me, not wanting me to fall completely asleep again in case I'd received a concussion, which judging by the small smear of blood on the wall above me, was distinctly possible. They also wanted to gauge my readiness to move, or to be moved if necessary.

Nothing like mornings at the fire hall though. Nope. No gauging Dr. Venkman there. Just a very sudden rush of ice cold water down my back, disgusting slime on my face, or a pair of hands forceably ejecting me from under my sheets. All usually to the tune of a very loud alarm bell, one which I was quite adept at ignoring before 10am.

"Peter? Are you feeling any better?" That was Ray, jolting me out of my memories. He had hunkered down by my head, as close as he could get without out setting off a repeat showing of my blue electrical light performance. We had all figured that one out quickly. Touching Pete baaaad.

"G'way," I muttered. Simple. To the point. They didn't get it.

"Ok homeboy, ready or not, we gotta get you outta here. We need to take you to the hospital and get you checked out. There's a nasty cut on the back of your head. Okay?

"No. No hosptls. Bed. Jzz wanna sleep." Ray shot Egon a pleading look. Egon nodded.

"Peter. My readings indicate that you no longer appear to be radiating an electrical field. It should be safe to touch you now."

My still fuzzy brain took a moment to wrap around the bigger words. "Y'sure?"

"Does Scorias spongiosa grow on Beech trees?"

I blinked up at Egon, still in the same position as I was in earlier.

"Uh? No. It grows on yer…."

"Ehem." Egon placed a well timed cough into his hand.

Through on slit eye I could see Egon's brow shoot up into his hairline in mock offense.

Ray's grin was loud enough to hear.

"N'kay." I conceded. Hospital. Then home. Bed. Put this day behind me.

I mean, really, was that supposed to be humor, Egon? I was down and out and still funny as shit. And when I got my brain back, I was going to give Egon a little refresher course on what was and was not considered funny in America.

But right now, if anyone on the planet was going to get me to move it would be Egon. I always listened to Egon. Well, usually. Well, more than I listen to anyone else.

Slowly, painfully, I uncurled myself and turned onto my front, resting my throbbing head on the cool floor, then painstakingly pushed up against my sorely aching muscles and began to stand, feeling my way up the wall as I attempted to straighten up. I felt like I had just run a two hour marathon, on all fours, and on my back, in the crab position. The room weebled and titled, and two sets of eager hands, Egon's and Winston's, appeared under each of my arms, ready to catch me if my legs gave way. They held. A little shaky, but still good.

Ray grabbed my discarded proton pack off the floor and shambled along beside the three of us, rambling on about how great the bust had been, and how great is was that I was alright, and how great it would be if we could get home from the hospital in time to run some tests in Egon's lab. I saw Egon smile at that. He would.

"Jeez, Ray" I grumbled in complete exasperation. "If you thay great one more time I thwear…"

I didn't complete that sentence. I didn't need too. Ray's eyes immediately plummeted to his feet, and he plodded in silence. Great. I felt like I'd ripped the head off his favorite toy.

I sighed.

"Awww Ray," I wheedled in my sincerest apologetic tone. He gave me a side long glance and I forced a weak smile, which was more a grimace than anything. But Ray took it as I meant it and his face lit up again. He continued to chitter to Egon all the way to Ecto.

"You doin' good Pete," Winston encouraged me as we weaved very slowly through the still hallways and down the steps at the front entrance to the building. I leaned fully onto the guys shoulders when we reached the steps. There were only five or six of them but it was dizzying.

They bundled me into Ecto, and I nestled between Egon and Ray. Then I leaned my head on Ray's shoulder and promptly fell asleep. One thing all of the guys will vouch for, is that I can fall asleep anywhere, any time, and if I put my mind to it, in almost any situation. On several occasions I'm sure I've heard them placing bets on how long it would be until I was unconscious on the couch in the den. Never found out for sure 'cause I… well… I fell asleep.

The ride to the hospital was smooth. Ecto's siren wailed through the streets of New York and traffic scattered. By now, most New Yorkers were used to seeing us cut a swath through traffic like we owned every inch of the damn road, and they paid us some respect. Just a perk of the job, and one I didn't mind.

Given that it seemed I wasn't in any immediate danger, Winston kept all four tires firmly on the ground for a change. Along the way I awoke a few times to a warm hand lazily brushing back the matted hair on my forehead. Egon. Somewhere en route he had turned and leaned with his back against the door and I had curled comfortably up against his body, my head resting on his collar bone. I could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest and his long fingers running through my bangs from time to time. Normally I'd threaten to flush his precious molds down the toilet if he touched my hair. But right now I couldn't have cared less. Besides, I'll never admit this again but it felt pretty damn good.

Later in the hospital, Ray chastised me playfully for drooling on his shoulder. Jeez, give a wounded guy a break. I wasn't there long at all, just long enough to have the lump on the back of my head checked out, receive four stitches, and piss off no less than two rather attractive nurses. Ya, I was gonna be ok.

**XXXXX**

Three days later, and things were pretty much business as un-usual. We'd been out on four relatively easy busts. Couple of class twos, and some slimy class threes. For the last three days I'd managed to avoid Egon's so called tests. I'd put my foot down about the whole "tests" thing the minute we got back to central.

I thought I'd made myself clear on that until not once but twice I caught Egon pointing that damn PKE meter at me, and during a bust! The first time I just glared. The second time though I'd threatened to stick it where the sun didn't shine and turn it on in the presence of a Class 8. Both brows had shot into the stratosphere at that one. He'd kept no more than a wary eye on me the rest of the bust.

During this evening's emergency bust I'd received a liberal coating of goo of course. Dried green snot was caked into my hair, across my chest and shoulders, and some of the slimy ectoplasm had even managed to slither down my back, putting me in an exceptionally foul mood. I took it upon myself to bitch about it until the guys were practically running up stairs to warm up the shower for me. Psychology degree or not, sometimes it was just too easy.

Exhausted from clambering up way too many flights of stairs with a heavy proton pack, I toweled off, threw it into a heap at the foot of my bed and crawled straight under my covers, my hair still damp. It was only 8:30 and the summer sun still shone through the windows of our bunk room. I turned away from the light and buried my head into my pillow, clutching it in my arms, and almost immediately dozed off.

The sun had seemed awfully bright this afternoon. Truth is, I'd found myself squinting at it all day, which is actually why I ended up wearing a suit of cold green ecto-snot in the first place. We had been hunting for the last of several goopers in a twelve story high rise, when the class three had come screaming at me from the direction of a window. I couldn't see it. But I could hear it. I didn't dare fire though because I knew the guys had been around the corner nearby. So instead I tried to dodge the green missile, unsuccessfully. No matter, could have happened to any of us. And now I was clean and in bed, one of _my_ favorite haunts, though not usually this early without a date.

_I was a bit of a night owl myself, mostly because out of all of the guys, hands down, I had the worst nightmares. It was not unusual for me to bolt out of bed at one or two in the morning after a particularly scary bust, or more accurately, a bust which had involved a close call for one of us._

_Fangs, claws, glowing eyes, even a hundred feet of slime, I could handle, but seeing one of my best friends almost take a dirt nap. That would keep me up for a week. Surprisingly, it wasn't my own degree in psychology that helped me work through the nightmares. No, my fix-all was a warm cup of cocoa and my best friend, who always seemed to know when I was up and in need of a little midnight counseling._

This time though, the nightmare had been about me.

I was fighting my way through a thick fog. Not unusual nightmare fare. In fact, much of it would have seemed run of the mill. It was the strength of the emotions that got to me though.

I didn't know where I was, but somehow I felt it was somewhere very high. I sensed people all around but they were far below, worlds away. In the real world, I would have been a basket case if I'd been as high up as I was in my nightmare. But in that place the height didn't concern me. I was looking for something in the mist. I was on my own, but not alone. There was something in there somewhere, something that I wanted badly. No. I didn't want it. I needed it, so much that I felt like I would wither and die without it. And it wanted me to find it.

And then I began to feel it. A crackling blue flame began to sparkle in the fog around me, and a heat surged through my body. Suddenly the blue flame turned to yellow and the fog began to split and crack down the middle, leaving a jagged line of clear blue, and distant ball of yellow fire. Panic tore through me as the fire began to burn my face and eyes, and my skin began to blacken and smoke. Cold terror dug its black claws into me and I screamed.

I sat bolt upright in bed, clutching my pillow to my bare chest, and gulping in huge breaths of air in the darkness. Silence. No flames. No smoke. I held my hands up to my face and examined them in the dimness of the bunk room, wiggling my fingers. No pain.

"Shit," I whispered in the darkened bedroom. I reached for my alarm and turned it to face me. The red lights said 2:15am. What the hell was that all about? A vampire? Was I a vampire in my nightmare? Hadn't tangled with any vamps in a long time, so why would I be dreaming about them now?

I slid out of bed, onto the cool floor and crept out of the room. Three forms slept on contentedly, blissfully unaware that the fourth ghost buster had flipped on the hall light, and virtually every other light in the upstairs portion of the fire house, and was now sitting in the kitchen staring blankly at the patterns on the table cloth. Or so I thought. A few minutes later, like clockwork, Egon appeared in the doorway. I don't know how that guy did it. And I swear his eyes were still shut as he prepared the cocoa.

* * *

_And that's that. Again, this was written back around 2003 or so. First time i've read it in years. And i'm actually quite proud of it... in fact, i'm frusterated because I think it's better than my Bleach fic. I think I had read so many RGB stories that getting into Peter's head was the easiest thing in the world. There are more scenes that I could post, shorter ones. If there's enough (a lot of) interest, I will take the time to do that. Otherwise, I will likely be content to post just this portion. Junichiblue._


	2. Chapter 2

This was the next part to the story. I had planned to do a chapter in between, but never got that far. So essentially, this is another small excerpt. Hope you enjoy. Pete goes to a bar. All kinds of fun.

junichiblue

* * *

**Power Trip: Chapter Two**

Despite Egon's cocoa 101 session, and the fact that both of us thought I was cured, the dream kept resurfacing, causing me night after night of aggravation and sleeplessness. The next few mornings went something like this.

Day one – 12:15 pm.

"Hey sleeping beauty, you gonna get up before the sun sets?" Winston's voice rang loud in the quiet room.

"Hmm?" I scrunched my face up into what could only have looked like a brown haired potato doll, then glared with one eye at the intruder. "Thought I locked that." I mumbled.

"I don't get you Pete. It's nearly one in the afternoon." He crossed his arms. "Man I know zombies that are mo' _alive_ than _you_."

"So? What's yer point," I grumbled into my pillow. That question was followed by silence. But in it I heard another question. So, resignedly, I answered. "Nightmares."

"Oh." There was a brief pause. "Shoot man, why didn't you _tell_ us. We'd have left you alone."

"Told Spengler," I mumbled.

"Alright." He nodded. "Well if you want to talk about it with me, I'm all ears."

"Mmmfff, thanks Zed. Let you know…" and I drifted back off into the welcoming embrace of a dreamless afternoon sleep.

**XXXXX**

Day two – One thirty pm.

Day Three – Three fifteen pm

Day four – crack of noon… a new record

Day five – refer to days two and three

Day six – refer to day five

**XXXXX**

Day eleven

My head hurt.

My neck hurt?

I sat up clumsily in amongst a tangle of sheets and tentatively rubbed my tender throat with the tips of my fingers. Felt like bruises coming out. Strange. I don't remember doing that on any of our recent busts. Recent for me being well over a week ago.

The guys had noticed the not too subtle black marks developing under my green eyes, and I had half joked that I was considering buying a whole box of cocoa mugs since I couldn't seem to keep mine clean. That kept them back... at least for the time being... till I could figure out what was going on.

For the past week, the ghosts had decided to take a vacation, so work was slim, and but for a few weak class threes, the Ghostbusters had some free time. So, Egon and I had agreed to let my nightmare induced insomnia slide for the time being. I had bouts of it many times before and a week of poor sleep was nothing out of the ordinary. But it usually settled.

Here it was, though, another mid afternoon and I was barely conscious. I levered myself onto the edge of my bed, rubbed a hand across my protesting stomach, and was mildly surprised when I looked down at my open wallet on the floor near my foot. Then it hit me. I remembered. The bar. The girl. And that really obnoxious guy who was picking fights with… no wait… that was me.

Naturally, it being night time, I couldn't sleep, so shortly after midnight I had slithered out of bed and into an old pair of jeans and a gray sweat shirt and made my way down several city blocks until I'd come across a little bar.

It looked rough. But I felt rough tonight. So I went in, drew a stool up to the bar and ordered a double whatever, which I promptly chased with a beer. The bartender was a brute, which probably served him well in this particular neighborhood. He served up my drinks without raising an eyebrow. No doubt he'd mixed up a lot of potent concoctions in this dump.

After my second drink, I made a decision. If I couldn't fall asleep without nightmares then I was going to get them so damn drunk they'd be giggling hysterically to themselves in a far corner of my mind, and leave me in peace.

Egon had, not once, but twice, tried to force feed me sleeping pills of course, but I hated anything in pill form. Pills dulled the senses. They made my brain feel like it was stuffed with cotton candy. I hated feeling disconnected. It didn't matter if I was dealing with ghosts or people. Either way, at home or out in the field, I preferred to keep both of my feet attached to the ground.

Liquid form, on the other hand, was beginning to look like a solution. Besides, I wasn't any use as a ghostbuster or even a psychologist these days, so what use was I?

It didn't take long until I had gotten reacquainted with my old college buddies Jack, Ron, Sam and Bud.

Turned out none of those guys really got along all that well together. And no less than one hour later, I'd staggered into the men's bathroom and devoted myself to ridding my stomach of my fair weather friends.

Great. Now I had to start all over again.

I made my way unsteadily back over to the bar, not caring to look at the few unsavory characters lodged there. Briefly I wondered if any of them new my dad.

"Beer," I demanded.

The bartender regarded me for a long moment. "No."

I looked at him, dumfounded. "No?" I repeated slowly, with a curl to my lip that only hinted at aggression.

He placed two freakishly large and hairy hands on the bar in front of me, and leaned towards me.

"Look, guy. You've had too much for two of you already. I may run a shit hole but I'm not out to ruin anybody. You're welcome back here any time, but for now, I suggest you go home to your…" he paused, not wanting to judge my appearance. "Just go home," he finished surprisingly gently.

Ok, so he wasn't a bad guy after all. He had a point. I really was tired now. It was two in the morning and it would be another twenty… (hic)… ok, make that forty minute walk back to the fire house. I nodded politely, pushed myself up from the bar and turned away from him, and ran right into something… soft… and beautiful.

"Oh!," a raven haired girl gasped, as she stumble back a step. Her dark eyes raised to my blurry green ones and I saw a faint glow of red spread over her cheeks. It was followed by a shy smile.

I leaned forward, inadvertently looking past her face and into what had softened my blow. Don't think she caught that or I'd have been the unlucky recipient of a smacked cheek, a gesture I'd received so many times I couldn't count on two hands. Why? I don't know. Probably because after too much time between dates I lose some of my cool and turn into a salivating dog. That could be it.

And come to think of it, it had been awhile. So I took special care to keep my cool. I took one of her hands into mine, which had crossed up over her body in a instinctive protective gesture after our collision.

"I'm s…shorry 'bout that mish".

Very smooth. Really pouring on the old Venkman charm now.

Her smile widened into a full grin. "It's okay uh… Peter," she said hesitantly.

"Hey!" I raised an eyebrow. "Do I know you? 'Cause I know I'd know I knew you… if I knew… uh…"

Yup, giving a whole new meaning to the word brilliance.

She mercifully raised a finger to my lips, then leaned in and whispered, "I've seen you on tv," a knowing grin on her lips. "All of you guys, the Ghostbusters." She blushed before continuing. "You're my favorite." She followed that little tid bit with a very effective wink. Damn. I was waking up now. And cool was walking right out the door. Go dog go.

Our magic moment was abruptly cut short by a deep raspy voice.

"Hey missy, you gonna come give me what I'm paying for or what?"

Excuse me? I watched her smile turned to a grimace and she drew her hand away, as she turned her head away from me. "Hang on a sec," she replied to the large, very unattractive guy at the table behind her.

She turned back to me, and seeing the expression on my face, filled me in. "Boyfriend. Sort of. Wants his beer." She shrugged her pretty shoulders.

"Ahh". I nodded. Asshole.

"Well," she signaled behind me. "I should really.."

"Uh ya. Was nice meeting you miss…" I leaned forward.

"Missy." I must have given her a blank look for at least five full seconds. She just grinned. "It actually is Missy."

"Missy" I repeated, taking care to pronounce it despite my drunkenness. Missy. I thought it was a beautiful name, (even if it did sound a little like a stage name.)

"Hey. _Slut_. Get your face away from princess, and get up to the bar." Raspy yelled.

Whoa. Back the bus up. My hands curled up into tight balls. As I watched Missy's expression fall to the floor, everything else began to fade away. I uttered a low barely audible growl, and stepped neatly around Missy. Before I even knew what was going on, I had my right hand wrapped in Raspy's hair and was bouncing his large ugly head off the table, with a satisfying thud.

"You don't (_bang_) talk to ladies (_bang_) like that (_bang_)."

That's when all hell broke loose. Apparently Raspy had friends. Two really big ones. In fact it seemed they'd all caught a piece of the same ugly stick.

I had just started my tutoring session in manners when two pairs of hands twisted painfully into the back of my shirt and launched me forward across Raspy's table. It knocked the wind out of me for a second, but I sucked in a breath and quickly began gathering up my sprawling limbs. I only had a second to react or it was game over, I knew that much. I'd learned the rules or rather lack of 'em, back in my younger days when I'd had to earn respect of those who'd wanted to push me down. Not a part of my past I mentioned much to anyone, but thanks to my dad, I had cut my teeth on the streets, honing my skills, learning to strike hard, fast, unexpectedly.

Time slowed to a drag and I heard the hollow scrape of glass as the bottom of a bottle slid across the surface of the wooden table before it was hoisted up in the air. Boy, was I awake now.

"You boys made one mistake," I growled as I flipped myself onto my back, Raspy out cold beside my arm.

"You let go."

I gave the one with the bottle a feral grin, as he brought it down towards my face. That's when I really started to impress myself. I reached up and caught his wrist with one hand and the bottle with the other. I was always quick as a cat in football, especially when the offensive quarterback was a demon, but this was just… inhuman.

I finished off with a goal winning kick to the side of his face and he went down hard. The other one, sensing it was his turn for a kick at the cat, lunged at me grabbing my foot and heaving me forward, right into his eager hands. That's when my winning streak came to an abrupt end. I reached up and caught his wrists in an effort to keep him from wrapping his mitts around my neck and begin to choke the stuffing out of me, but his arms were long and thick and I couldn't budge them. My face and head began to pound, hot from the blood, and the room began to spin, more so. We stayed in that position for a few seconds, until he suddenly backed off. Actually, as it turned out, he was bodily ripped off of me by my good friend from behind the bar.

I gasped and rolled off the table and onto my feet, mostly. A pair of soft hands took one of my arms and I turned to see Missy staring down at me, a completely love struck expression on her face. Well, that's what I saw anyway.

I coughed and rubbed my throat for a minute. "Uh sorry 'bout that," I rasped. Swallowing hard I straightened myself up and brushed off my shirt, more to avoid her gaze as to actually remove any dirt. Finally I looked up and studied the scene. Blood, beer, broken noses, general destruction. Not my usual handy work. But still, a good time had by all.

I turned back to Missy, swayed a little, smiled meekly and shrugged. Then a thought hit me and I brightened.

"So much is too much," I stated triumphantly.

The same awed expression on her face, Missy shook her head, not really left to right or up and down, more round n round. I regarded her from lovely head to toe, just to make sure she was alright, then abruptly turned and headed for the street. If I'd been remotely sober, I would have loved to go anywhere she wanted to take me, but right now, the only thing still on my mind was bed… alone. Crazy. I know. The adrenaline and near rage, that only moments ago was a rushing torrent through my veins, was already beginning to fade, and I knew I needed what was left of it just to get me home.

"Hey! Buddy!," a bass voice boomed across the now even dumpier looking bar.

Ah shit. Reality hit me. Where the hell did I think I was going? I'd just trashed the place. The cops were probably on their way. I'd have to explain it to the guys. And if I got charged it would make the papers and then, aww shit… not only would my own reputation be tarnished but I'd be affecting Ghostbusters and my friends lives as well. That was definitely not acceptable. I needed to step up and face this before it got out of hand. I stopped, sighed, and turned, framed in the doorway and back lit by the street light outside, and regarded the blurry barkeep.

"Remember what I said. You're welcome back here any time," he grinned, still holding the meekly protesting dirt bag by his scruffy collar with one enormous hand. "This one's on the house."

I quirked the corner of my mouth, nodded and let the door squeak shut behind me. As soon as it shut, I expelled a huge lungfull of breath, oriented myself towards the fire hall and stumbled forward.

I would be back here, many times in the next few weeks.

**XXXXX**

"Peter."

"Hmmphlf?"

"Time to get up Peter. What would you like for breakfast?"

I blinked incoherently, and slowly pushed the world into some semblance of focus. What time was it? If it was before noon egg heads would roll. Slowly I lifted my head a few inches off of my warm pillow and squinted at the blur that was Egon.

"How about a nice steaming bowl of 'go away and let me sleep'?" I responded, as I dropped my protesting head back down into the mushy depths of my pillow.

"Peter, this has gone on for quite long enough. You can't possibly expect to continue to function in this manner. You have to do something about your current state." He abruptly leaned back and waved his hand under his nose. "And your current smell."

"No I don't," I mumbled.

Well of course I did. This was ridiculous. Out prowling the streets all night, drinking, fighting, doing all the things that made me the person I had so desperately avoided becoming. I had clawed my way through my youth, dragged my ass through college, got my degree, and opened a business that no one else on the planet was crazy enough to even think of. I'd done it with my friends help of course, the ones who had not only helped me scrape through my first years of school, but who had meticulously picked away at the Venkman wall that I had so carefully constructed in my early years to keep people out and my psyche secure.

Spengler stood over me for a full minute. He was planning, plotting. I knew it. I could practically hear his neurons firing. But then he sighed, said he'd give me and hour and left.


	3. Chapter 3

**Another section from the story, Power Trip, that I thought I'd post. This one contains three sections that were either finished segments or ideas to go into a longer segment. They are in order, but were not going to link directly to each other. Just so you know why they don't seem to link. **

**I've put a very brief explanation before each one, and they're as originally written, a reminder to myself of the writing style I assumed ten years ago and was proud of, and as of now, am envious of... because I can't seem to think/write quite this way anymore.**

**And yes, I just stated that I am envious of myself... If that's not the epitome of throwing yourself flowers, I don't know what is... *head-desk***

* * *

**Power Trip: Third ****Instalment**

_**Sitting round the kitchen table discussing Peter's regular visits to his home away from home, the bar. Peter's POV.**_

"What's it called again. Kreuger's place?" Ray asked the question with a look of mock innocence on his face.

I rolled my eyes. "Fred's place."

"Close enough." Egon said flatly, as he fixed me with a raised eyebrow.

"So, where is it?" Ray asked.

I traced a finger around the rim of my coffee cup. "Well" I began, "You know that little book shop just a block from here?"

Ray looked thoughtfully at me, and a light donned in his eyes. "Oh, oh yeah."

I grinned. "Not there."

Ray's face dropped for a moment, then his expression soured. Egon raised his mug up and pretended to drink, but I could see the broad grin only partially hidden behind his coffee cup.

Ahhh. Score one for the Venkmeister

* * *

**XXXXX**

_**Egon awakes before sunrise to find Peter Venkman actually up. This is not in line with Peter's 'hang around in bed till noon' character. Note: This is my favorite of the three sections.**_

Peter, up this early. Pigs were flying past the windows. I was sure of it.

A hoard of insufferable locusts were about to descend on the city at any moment. I was sure of it.

A pan clanged noisily against the steel of a hot stove, and a sockless Venkman hovered over said stove, one hand wrapped around the plastic handle of the lightly smoking pan, the other prodding the grayish mass that, based on pure deduction, I was sure had, at one time, been scrambled eggs.

He was dressed in an old and thoroughly faded pair of gray sweats, one of his favorite pairs I believe. It was matched with a grayish green tee shirt, one that, in my opinion, had always looked particularly good against his emerald eyes. Deep brown hair, usually styled to perfection stood ragged and spiky against his pale features, the unruly curl... unruly to the Nth degree. A day's worth of dark, stubbled hair produced a dirty effect across his jawline.

I stood silently, centered in the doorway, and contemplated the Venkman-like atrocity.

He was rocking on his bare feet from heel to toe and back again on the cold lenolium floor. The fantastically clean, shiny floor, I noticed, which now glowed several shades lighter than I could even remember. It was as if the dirt, spilled food, and years of old slime had all been scrubbed clean away. That alarmed me.

Darkness still hung outside the window, only hinting of the sun's impending arrival.

"hmmmm, hm hm waaaterr…"

And he was humming something I felt I might have been able to place, had there been any resemblance to an actual song.

"….fire in the sky…"

That was enough of that. I had to put a stop to the horror that was Venkman's singing.

"Peter," I said quietly so as not to alarm him. He was after all, cooking.

"D-aah!"

The spatula he'd been using to torture the eggs, dropped from nerveless fingers to the stove, bounced once and fell to the floor beside his feet. His head whirled around, hand to chest, eyes wide, quickly assessing me.

He puffed out a sigh. "Oh. Spengs. Jeez, what are you trying to do me? Sneaking up on me like….."

The informal dressing down was lost in a wordless mumble as he turned away from me and bent down to retrieve the utensil… which I noticed with some disgust he placed directly back into the frying pan.

"You're cooking," I stated, trying to gauge his temperament. He'd been unpredictable, and less than agreeable at the best of times since being unceremoniously removed from active ghost busting duty. This early in the morning, who knew what to expect? In fifteen years, I'd had rare occasion to study the beast at this time of day.

"Something like that," he sing-songed. He turned back to me after pausing to finally give the utensil a brief rinse, and displayed a crooked grin.

"You're up." I stated the obvious again, still just as baffled.

Peter leaned sideways against the edge of the stove and continued jerky, prodding motions towards the contents of the pan, which now sat on a cool portion of the stove. For one second, a myriad of emotions flashed across his face and then just a quickly disappeared. He was shutting me out, and I could not, would not let that happen. He looked and sounded… unstable, his bloodshot eyes too bright, movements erratic and jerky. I believe I even noticed his head twitch several times. He turned his head to face me completely, and cocked it slightly to one side.

"Never went to bed," he chirped.

I blinked against the words, then marched in four long strides across the clean floor and stopped just short of running into him. He didn't move, only stared past me blankly to where I had been standing before.

"You never went to bed?" I questioned firmly, disbelief clear in my normally controlled voice. Peter's nocturnal habits were normally of no particular concern to me. In fact, countless numbers of his dates ended with him creeping rather un-silently into the fire hall at all ungodly hours of the morning. That was just Peter. But it had been weeks now, and his sleep patterns had been far from whatever was normal for him.

His health and general well being, however, were always of particular concern to me. I placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

"Peter, when exactly _was_ the last time you slept?" I asked softly, studying his features. His eyes were underplayed with dark smudges, pupils dilated unusually large, skin pallid. White was replaced with broken red veins, and what was left of the usually sparkling green rim was only a dull shade of its former color. If I hadn't known this man like a brother, I would have said that he gave every appearance of being a drug addict. But I knew that was not the case, especially since getting him to take pain killers or sleep aids in the past had always been either an exercise in futility, or one that ended in threats.

He cast a glance downward, and shrugged a Venkman shrug, while quietly fidgeting with the spatula.

"Mm. Not sure… couple…couple days maybe." Then he suddenly brightened.

"Ahhh," he waved a hand at me. "Sleep's over rated Spengs. Gave it up, bad habit, steals your life away… that's what you always keep telling me when I sleep in la…."

I felt my composure slip just a little bit. I reached up to his shoulders and embraced them, giving the psychologist a firm but gentle shake until he looked up to meet my glare.

"Peter, let me help you."

He blinked at me once, then dropped his gaze, his eyes darting about in an almost desperate, panicked state, reflecting an internal struggle. If I hadn't been holding him, I'm almost sure he would have dropped the spatula and bolted. But, slowly the corner of his bottom lip began to quiver. I took that as my cue and pulled him into a hug. His mild resistance crumbled with finality and he threw himself fully against me, burying his head into my shoulder.

"Gawd Spengs… I'm…. so… tired." The words came muffled into the material of my shirt. But they were very clear to me. Peter, my friend, had finally asked for help. Now, maybe, I could finally help him.

* * *

**XXXXX**

_**In the lab upstairs. Peter has become agitated and restless, despite a growing lack of sleep. This might take place late afternoon, after he has managed to get some daytime sleep with Egon's help. Note: The samples Egon is looking at have nothing to do with Peter.**_

I paced back and forth behind Egon for several minutes, as he, hell bent on ignoring me for the moment, focused every ounce of his considerable brain power on the samples under the microscope. On my fifteenth lap, a hand caught my upper arm firmly, halting my progress, and I turned my head to face serious blue eyes.

"Peter? I would like to run some tests. Would you be amenable to that?"

Boy, _would_ I? "Uh, let me think about that." I rubbed my stubbled chin with my free hand and pretended to think hard. You know, really mull it over. "Uhmm, I'm gonna go with… hmmm, let's say… mmm…No."

Spengler only raised his eyebrow at me, without amusement. But he didn't let go of my arm. And that was just about starting to bug me.

"Peter," he began. "This morning you were ready to address this situation."

"Ya well, that was thennnn. And this is now. See how that works?" I said in a condescending voice. Then I changed my tone to one with a hint of threat. "Now if you want to continue to be able to manipulate the controls of that microscope in front of you, you'll let go of my arm."

Egon said not one word, just looked at me consideringly for a full second, then dropped his arm. I turned and left the room, unaware of the hard contemplative stare that followed me out the door.

* * *

_**There you go. There might be two more sections that are in relatively postable condition. And I may stick them up today or very soon.**_

_**Junichiblue**_


	4. Chapter 4

******Synopsis: The base story of Power Trip is that Peter has encountered an entity who's purpose was to infect him with a piece of itself. And basically, the energy embedded within Peter begins to grow and affect his personality and his behavior. It feeds off of anger and adrenaline and leads Peter to have nightmares, lose sleep and become more of a night owl, and eventually more unpredictable and violent. Although the guys figure out what's happening, and restrain Peter in a cage in the basement for his own safety, their realization comes too late.**

******In this part, a****fter attempts to get Peter's ghost possession problem resolved fails, Peter has broken out of his confinement and made his way up to the rooftop of a skyscraper. He was waiting for the arrival of the demon which has been controlling him. The guys show up, naturally, and save the day, stopping the demon from entering this world, and attempting to save Peter. Lots of melodrama. Then a nice Peter/Janine moment after Peter regains consciousness back at the fire hall. And yes, I had meant to have Peter and Janine do it like bunnies on the roof as part of a ritual. Never did write that part.**

* * *

**A Big Fight on a Rooftop**

Something began to slide through the opening which made ray and Winston swear and sent shivers down my back.

Peter only smiled crookedly and basked in the immense shadow of the portal.

Two streams exploded upwards, slamming into the portal which hung open like an ugly torn black gash above the skyscraper. Two more streams sliced through the air along the rooftop, headed straight for Peter.

His reaction floored me. He looked right at me with hate, and he just froze. I remember seeing his eyes lock with mine and widen in disbelief as he fully realized what I meant to do. What passed through them in that brief instant was the knowledge that I, Spengs, had no intention of backing down, and that he had been cocky and arrogant… and sloppy. I watched the streams engulf him in slow motion. As they hit, his whole body arched, caught in the powerful beams, and my stomach knotted as his head tilted back farther than what I thought was humanly possible.

Peter and the creature above, screamed in unison. Instead of writhing in inhuman agony, as most demons caught in the streams would do, it reached out with every ounce of its considerable strength towards Peter.

_NO._

A hand like thing was groping through the beams for him, getting closer. Peter's face was twisted in agony, his teeth clenched tight together, his eyes ground shut, brows furrowed. But he made no sound.

What Peter didn't know was that we had set the two beams to his frequency. That in fact, or at least in theory, we were encasing him in a protective shell, meant to temporarily shield him from his bond with the demon, and hold Peter at the same time. We couldn't capture the demon while it was so closely bonded with Peter. They were both drawing and feeding off of each others power, like some sort of closed circuit.

Given no other alternative, if we had to take him down, we would. But only as a excruciating last resort. I knew I could never go on being a ghostbuster if I had to kill my best friend. And if he died, he would die thinking that I had meant to kill him. I could never live with that.

**X X X**

The intense light abruptly disappeared as the trap snapped shut.

The moment the trap closed, Winston and I pulled our shots and released the triggers of our throwers.

Peter dropped like a stone.

I jammed my thrower ruthlessly into its holder and skidded to my knees beside the now motionless brown jumpsuit. I remember Winston doing the same as he grabbed for his radio, pressed the button, and yelled "_Now_! Get up here _now_!"

Peter lay sprawled flat on his back, arms and legs splayed as if he were a discarded doll, his head flopped loosely to one side. Something was terribly wrong, unreal. He was too still. His lips were parted, but where the brown suit should have been rising and falling, there was only stillness. "Dammit Peter!" I growled. "No!"

"They'll be here any second Egon. It's not too late. We can do this m'man. Okay, tilt his head back."

Winston's sharp command snapped me out of my shock, as he ripped the zipper down and peeled back the jumpsuit. Peter's head rocked slightly from side to side as Winston readied him.

Somehow, I regained some of my control, separating myself from my emotions, and I went through the motions we had so carefully prepared for. I reached under Peter's chin, tilted his head back, pinched his nose with my thumb and forefinger, sealed my lips around his, and blew. He was already cold, clammy, his lips and skin taking on a bluish tinge.

We had expected this outcome. And prepared for it. But I hadn't allowed myself to think it could actually happen. Peter hadn't been himself in weeks. He hadn't slept properly, or eaten properly. But he still had energy. In fact he seemed to be gaining strength, more and more of it recently as the days passed.

We'd figured out that it was actually growing inside of him, and that it was, in fact, the only thing keeping him upright at all. Ray and I had theorized that the distinct possibility existed that once we captured the demon, all that energy would be released… and Peter would simply die.

Winston counted aloud. With both hands, he began thrusting down hard against Peter's chest… one, two, three, four, five. I breathed.

We only repeated the procedure five times before the paramedics crowded down around the still lifeless form of Peter and pushed us away. I stumbled up onto my feet and watched helplessly.

Oh god, I'd killed him.

Grief threatened to overwhelm me, only to be replaced by a sudden rush of unexpected anger. Anger at Peter. Why? Why the hell did you do this? What were you thinking? My greatest fear was to lose my teammates, but to lose Peter at my own hands… and for what? Anger ran down my cheeks in a torrent as I watched the paramedics place two small paddles against his chest. I could not tear my eyes away.

"Clear"

_BANG_

Nothing.

"Clear"

_BANG_

Seconds felt like hours.

"Wait. Quiet." The paramedic held up one hand while straining to listen for a flicker of heartbeat.

"We got him."

It had been Winston's idea to call paramedics before heading into the building and have them standing by several floors down. I was glad of it. A collective sigh resounded from almost everyone on the rooftop. He was no where near out of danger yet, but not completely lost to us either.

Peter suddenly shuddered and gasped frantically for his first big breath of air.

His eyes suddenly flew open, full of hatred, and disorientation. Purest black. His left arm shot up with snakelike speed, grabbing one EMT by the shoulder. With an animal grunt, he heaved the EMT right up over himself and into the other EMT on his other side, sending both men sprawling across the gravel roof. It appeared that the energy had not completely dispersed, something I was rather grateful for at that moment.

Before anyone could react, Peter hauled himself onto his feet and launched himself across the roof until he stumbled into the corner edge of the rooftop, barely catching himself from going over. For a split second he stared straight down 50 floors to the streets below. Then he whirled around in a blind rage, panicked like a cornered animal, ready to scramble over the edge if we moved one inch.

"Peter!" Ray and Winston cried together. I was too shocked. My mouth refused to move. Janine still clung to my side, her fist curled tightly into the back of my suit.

"Stay away from me!" Peter gasped, his hair spiky and matted across his sweat drenched forehead. The adrenaline that pounded through him lasted only seconds as his battered body finally caved in. His shaking legs quickly gave way and he sank into the corner, still gripping the ledge behind and above him with one hand.

"Stay… the… fuck away." Desperation and defeat rang through. I could see the blackness of his wild eyes, still dilated and partially blinded by the daylight. I do not believe he ever actually focused on any of us, rather, stared unfocused at the ground ahead of him.

He wheezed, coughed, grabbed his chest, grimaced, and finally slid slowly down onto his side, wrapping his arms around himself. Blood ran down his face, pouring from his nose and several long cuts from our violent encounter. He shook violently, groaning, curling into a ball, a picture of abject misery.

It was Janine who made the first move. Without a word, she released herself from me, shrugged off her pack, and headed for the corner. She stopped and dropped down in front of him, reaching out for him. "Dr. Venkman", she pleaded gently. But Peter shrank back further, eyes shut tight, weakly shaking his head, whimpering "No… no… no… no."

"Peter", she demanded in her no nonsense, Janinest tone. "It's over. It's gone. You're safe."

He looked to be about two seconds from passing out from pain and shock, but he slowly raised his head.

He was aware enough for those words to mean something. Was the nightmare over?

Janine reached out and gripped his shoulder. "Come here Peter. It's all right now." For a flash I saw his eyes focus on hers, and recognition and desperate need for comfort flooded them.

With his last ounce of strength he crawled up onto Janine's lap and pitched forward against her. She embraced him, his head against her stomach, arms wrapped around her legs and hips. She rocked gently, brushing the hair back from the side of his face, her other arm rubbing down his back, quietly murmuring assurances. "Shhhhh. It's all over."

The moment Peter lost consciousness, his hand fell limply away.

"He's alive." It was Ray.

Not for long, I thought.

Janine looked up. Tears streaked her face and her bottom lip began to quiver. "He's so cold."

I turned to Ray and Winston, who now stood beside me, their faces mirroring my own, equal parts shock and panic. Janine had gone maternal. What had gone on between those two in our absence was anyone's guess.

The two paramedics recovered their senses and raced over to them.

**X X X**

**Waking up from the nightmare**

Voices. Distant and unclear.

Blackness. Quiet. Peace.

Pain. Screams twisted in a dark wind. Storms. High dangerous places. Flashes of burning light. Jumbles of frantic images. Terror.

I groaned inaudibly and jerked painfully away from the series of swirling nightmarish images and stumbled dumbly into something resembling a more peaceful semi-consciousness. They were more than nightmares. Had to be. They seemed so real. But I wasn't sure what was real and what was imagined right now. I had the strangest feeling that I hadn't known the difference for quite some time.

I hung in darkness as the world swam around me for ages, just out of reach, teasing me with the promise of quiet solid reality. Eventually the seas began to calm, and slowly I drifted back towards the land of my physical self. Still dark, but calm and quiet and peaceful.

Then slowly, methodically, a single sound began to penetrate the darkness. A soft sound. I locked onto it until it became familiar. The turning of pages? Slowly, I tried to open my eyes. Someone had glued them together. My left one felt odd... wouldn't budge. I heaved the other heavy lid until I finally managed to peel it open. For all my efforts, all I could get was a tiny sliver of light. Where was I? Was I dead? Na. Couldn't be sure about that but I mentally crossed all my fingers and tried to focus on wherever the hell it was that I was now. Wherever it was, at least it was quiet.

It took several minutes of lying quietly for me to search out my body and locate various limbs. Didn't seem to have the strength to move any of it yet, but it all seemed to be there, attached. Unfortunately, it also all seemed to be hurting, a hell of a lot. I felt like one gigantic bruise.

Gritting my mental teeth against the pain, I started the process of ever so gently rolling my head to my right, towards the sound, so slowly I'm sure, that unless someone was watching they probably would have missed it. Even from such a small movement, the room spun, my stomach roiled, and the muscles in my neck complained fiercely.

My good eye finally focused a little onto a fuzzy form. Human. Someone was sitting beside my… bed? Aha, gotta be a hospital. Alright, we're cooking with gas now.

I parted my lips and tried to form words. Anything would do. Nadda. Damn.

And shit, that hurt. My lips were chapped and sore, and a cut burned on my lower lip. My mouth was the Sahara, pasty, parched, and generally unpleasant in taste. I swallowed against the dryness and tried again. All that came out was a weak groan, a very undignified unmanly pathetic whimper. But that did it. It was enough.

The pages abruptly stopped turning. It was a red haired figure that dropped the magazine and leaned in, reaching across my face and brushing lightly down across my temple and cheek with a small soft hand. Ray? No way. Rays hands couldn't be that soft.

Didn't matter who it was. I reveled in the touch, and leaned into it for all I was worth, which probably amounted to about zilch at the moment. But the hands were warm, and human and real. Please don't let go.

"Peter," a voice said softly.

The best I could do was return was a soft moan through a throat that felt like I'd swallowed sandpaper and washed it down with hydrochloric acid.

"Peter. You're awake!" Another hand slipped around my right hand and squeezed lightly. "It's okay, Doctor Venkman. You're home."

Home? I opened my eye another millimeter and mouthed the word. That won me a small smile and a reassuring nod from… Janine. I was back in the firehouse, in my own bed. I opened my mouth again and Janine leaned in closer. "Wa... ter." It was barely even a whisper.

She nodded and reached back to my bedside table and brought a glass with a straw, apparently expecting my arrival at any time.

**X X X**

With monumental effort I rolled away from Janine, onto my side, and tossed my cookies. I would have been mortified… if the wall of pain hadn't slammed into my side as a result of the motion and the heaving. Broken ribs I figured, and a quite few of them by the feel of it. After an eternity of dry heaving miserably, things began to settle, and I realized that Janine was now sitting on the bed, partially draped over me, her hand on my sweat drenched forehead. When I finally stilled, she eased me back onto my back. Rolling back was only slightly less painful but this time I had the advantage of taking short in and out breaths in the traditional birthing technique to help me through it. It took several minutes to settle and gather myself back up and calm my breathing back down to normal.

"Oohhh this sucks… M'sorry." I whispered. I blinked up at her. She smiled.

"Oh, it's alright, Dr. V. We're used to cleaning up after you." She paused and grimaced. "Though you're not usually quite so gross."

My already flushed face grew hotter. Time for a change of subject. Time for a witty Venkman remark. She was still sitting beside me, and it dawned on me.

"Hey," I mumbled, "never thought I'd get you in bed with…"

_Holy Shit_

The world screeched to a stop.

A twelve ton truck filled with a dozen memories of sounds, touch, and tastes, and emotions, hit me all at once.

Janine suddenly leaped off the bed as if she had a five alarm fire under her ass. I just stared at her with my one eye and my mouth gaping. She could see me remembering, and her face flushed scarlet. Then she leaned in, her nose almost touching mine. The unmistakable promise of murder in her eyes should have scared the living shit out of me right there and then, but I was trapped in a muddle of surreal images… a tidy little house in the burbs… happy little redheads with green eyes screeching in delight… and it was already doing a thorough job of scaring the living shit out of me. The sound of her stern voice snapped me back into the present.

"It… _never_… happened," she growled.

I shook my head fractionally, giving the only safe answer I could.

_Like hell it didn't_. We would talk about this later. Oh _boy_ would we talk about this later. No way Janine would be able to keep this, the crime of the century, bottled up for long. This was huge. This was titanic. She was going to need therapy.

Hell. So was I.

And…

Egon

Oh dear god. Egon would _know_. There was no hiding a disaster of this magnitude from Brainiac. He knew me too well, and Janine too, and he'd know the minute we were all in the same room that something had happened. And then…

Then he would _kill_ me.


	5. Chapter 5

**Synopsis: This was to be the wrap up chapter. There would have been some chapters about the post possession trauma, the affect Peter's actions had on the guys and on himself. Peter would have become very distant, and would have misinterpreted their efforts to give him space as a sign that they no longer wished to associate with him after he basically tried to destroy the world. Peter's issues stem from the fact that the possession wasn't run of the mill, and he had control over his actions. He felt like he was the one making the decisions and no longer feels worthy of being a ghostbuster.**

**Yes, it would have been melodramatic. But let's skip all that and just do this. I'm quite fond of this warm and fuzzy ending. ^_^**

* * *

**Muddling Through Somehow/Forgiven**

"Hey."

I turned my head away from the glittering lights of the city skyline and looked over my shoulder to find Ray standing in the light of the rooftop doorway. I was so lost in thought that I hadn't even heard the door open. Probably wouldn't have noticed if a bomb had gone off beside me. But Ray, he got through.

"Hey," I replied quietly, staring down at the weathered floor beside me, not meeting his eyes.

"Would you mind some company?"

"Uh." I sighed silently then shrugged. "Whatever. Sure. Free country."

I really did mind. A lot. But it was Ray. And I could never turn down gentle Ray, with his never ending supply of good intentions. Besides I didn't feel like I had any right too at this point, no way, not after the hell ride I'd put us all through. As far as I was concerned, I was lucky to be allowed back in the firehouse at all, and not on my ass in the street, or in the loony bin for that matter, although, I do seem to remember comparing the streets of New York to one big asylum on several occasions over the years.

As I leaned forward/back down on the ledge and crossed my hands together, Ray bounced up to the edge of the rooftop and patted the brick ledge beside me. He took in a huge breath of night air and gazed out at the scenery. I spared a subtle glance at the little boy next to me, noticing that he had given me a couple of feet of personal space. Good call.

"Wow Peter," he exclaimed in genuine awe. "What a beautiful night. Feel that breeze. Don't you just love her… New York."

Shit Ray. Yeah, I love her. I love her so much I was ready to barbeque the whole thing.

"Yeah." I felt my eye twitch involuntarily. Very sneaky Ray. I have taught you well. I heard him sigh, and felt his stare lock onto me. Suddenly, the lights in the distance became way too interesting and I kept my focus on them. It was that or look at Ray, and if I looked at Ray, something was gonna give.

"You know Peter… we don't… we really don't... _blame_ you."

The words "blame you" sounded like they came out of a long tunnel inside my head, echoing several times.

You're crazy not to.

"I know," I replied. A small hard lump started to form at the base of my throat and I swallowed it down.

"I'm not angry. None of us are. I know, well I thought, you might be feeling uncomfortable, and I just want you to know that we're not angry. And when you're ready to come back to us we're gonna be there for you."

"Mhm" What I meant to say was thanks, but it got held up along the way, somewhere between my lungs and my tongue. The distant lights suddenly smeared into little blurs and I blinked hard. No way. Not gonna lose it. Not gonna.

A hand reached out and gripped my white knuckled/folded ones, and I tensed. Ray felt it but he just squeezed harder.

"It wasn't like… Watt was it?" he said in a low tone. It was more a statement than a question really. He knew damn well it wasn't like Watt. That had been an outright possession. A hostile take over.

"No Ray." I whispered, my voice a little rough. "Not like Watt. Not like Alice, the first time or the second. Not like being hooked on heroin." I took a deep breath. "But kind of like all of it blended up into a really bad health food shake." I smiled and snorted despite myself. That was almost kind of something like a joke that came out of my mouth. Been a while.

"Eww," was all Ray could say, but I could hear a smile behind it.

My half smile disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared. I resumed my visual inspection of the back of Ray's hand. Good old Ray. You try to end the world and he just wants to know why so he can forgive you. His compassion and sincerity blew me away. Suddenly the need to explain myself came alive and I found that I wanted to talk about it. Good old Ray, tapping on the flood gates till they developed just the crack needed to release all my thoughts before I exploded.

"There was something I wanted," I continued, "I needed." I paused. "Needed something, and I didn't even know what it was. I was willing to hurt," I squeezed my eyes tight, "no…I was willing to kill anyone who got in my way, Ray, and I didn't even know WHY." The last word would have been close to a yell but my voice broke completely and I ran a shaking hand through my unkempt hair, messing it up even more in the process.

Ray withdrew his hand and stood there, eyes wide with alarm and sudden understanding. Then his brows furled with purpose and he grabbed me by the shoulders. I raised an arm to fend him off.

"Awwww Rayyyy, nooo," I whined. I must have looked like I thought he was gonna beat me but instead he drew me into a fierce hug.

"I sorry Peter I didn't understand."

Wait for it.

"I love you Peter. And I'm sorry you went through that."

And _that's_ when I lost it. All bets were off. I buried my face into the shoulder of his sweater and bawled. I'd been forgiven. Absolved.

Seconds later, my legs rebelled and we ended up in a less than refined heap on the floor of the roof as I continued my sobbing. Spasm/shudders raced through my body, as I apologized no less that fifteen times.

We stayed like that for several long minutes, Ray rocking us so gently I almost wasn't even aware of it.

I also wasn't aware that we had an audience.

"Egon," Ray's single word brought my head up out of his now thoroughly moistened shoulder.

Egon's here? Crap crap crap. I didn't even look at the door because I was too busy frantically sniffling and wiping my eyes on my sleeve. They were puffy and bloodshot. I couldn't stop sniffling, and my famous hair was stuck to my forehead… again. Dignity was not one of my stronger traits lately.

I was embarrassed to be crying in Ray's arms. I don't know why. Perhaps because I was a guy. There's that. But Ray was also like a younger brother to me, and I usually supported him and spent way too many times telling him that this or that was NOT his fault, no matter how much he insisted.

Then there was Egon. Over the years when an emotional outburst of my caliber was warranted, it was Egon's arms that I ended up in. We'd damn near cried our way through every one of life's toughest moments. When he'd lost his first love, when I'd lost my mom, when things looked hopeless. We had always turned to each other for support when disaster struck. This was one of those moments. He was my best friend, brother, father when needed, a soul mate. And I'd pushed him away.

Egon stood on the far side of the door, something in both hands I couldn't quite make out.

"Ray. You forgot your cocoa. I didn't want it to get cold." His eyes focused on Ray's sweatshirt then jumped across to my face. "This one is for you Peter. It's yours, if you want it." He emphasized the last words. If you want it. The cocoa. The job. The team. The life. My life.

I nodded tentatively, then took another swipe at my eyes. "How long…" I croaked at Ray.

"You heard?" Ray asked, looking up.

"I apologize. Yes." Kneeling down, Egon placed a hand on my shoulder and looked me with serious baby blues. "Do not worry Peter. We will never let you be such a self serving uhh… _asshole_ again."

Huh? I blinked at Ray, then back to Egon.

"Spengler? Did you say…? You just… you just called me an asshole."

I said it like he was a baby saying his first word. Ray was grinning ear to ear. Egon only cocked his head, pretending to look perplexed.

"Well, you're not the only one who holds the rights to abuse the English language, Doctor Venkman."

I stared at him like a deer in high beams.

Egon rolled his eyes in a very un-Egon like manner and shook his head in fond exasperation.

"Come here Peter," he grabbed me fully and squeezed so hard I thought I felt another rib crack, but I was more than glad to endure it. And naturally Ray felt the compulsion to wrap his arms around both of us. You just can't keep that kid out of a group hug if you tried.

"Peter, you mean the world to us. You're family. And families look out for each other. The entity's attack on you and the events that followed were not your fault. If anybody is negligent, I was. I could see something was wrong, but I wasn't astute enough to discern the consequences in time. For that I sincerely apologize Peter. I hope you can forgive me.

"E-gon," I began in the tones of someone who has just reached the limits of listening to the ridiculous.

Enter Winston.

"You too?" I moaned.

He p'shawed and waved a hand down at me. "Of course homeboy. You didn't think you actually had any privacy around here did you?"

….

P We ended up staying outside for several hours, stretched out on lawn chairs, the guys making sure to plant me securely in the middle, and enjoyed was really was a beautiful night.

….

E We talked about everything from Peter's first encounter with the fog entity…

….

P …to Egon's tests and theories

….

E …to the final battle

….

P and my return home. Just got it all out there. Even the drama with Janine.

….

E Hmmph. Yes. At any rate, it was a relief for all of us. But it wasn't a happy ending.

….

P No.

….

E If anything…

….

P …it was a rebirth.

_-The End -_


End file.
